Perfect
by Breathing January
Summary: Listening to Simple Plan's song Perfect gave me this idea. This is why I shouldn't be allowed to listen to music while studying. Can you say ADHD? Lol :b Anyway, just a little one-shot. I always thought that behind the scenes, Lucius was a good father to Draco, and his heart was always in the right place. I never thought he was completely evil, just power hungry.. Y'know?


He had walked fast to these specific doors, but now that hes standing here, in front of them, he's frozen. The large double doors loomed over him, taunting him for all that he's worth. Time seemed to pass so much faster as he stood there, not able to look away, but in reality it had only been an hour. He's not going to say he wasted his time, like he would've before, but that was just that. It was before.

It took another fifteen minutes of wandering thoughts and numbing pain 'til he sighed and stretched out a shaking hand to push open one of the doors. The shiny wood was cold under his pale hand, but it didn't phase him. If anything, it made him feel more relaxed - if only slightly. He breathed out slowly and opened the door enough to let himself side-step in.

The room was dim, the torches on the walls burning just barely and the fire place in ashes. Being midnight, no sun was shining through the open window. The rest of Malfoy Manor normally kept the drapes closed, but his son despised it. He always said he 'lived under ground all through the school year without a proper view from a window, so he would be damned if he was going to close off the Malfoy Gardens from his room.'

Lucius Malfoy just blinked owlishly at Draco when he said that to him at the age of 12.

The room was empty, something he never thought he'd see. The room was always messy. Papers and books scattered over tables and desks. His bookshelf was only half full because the rest of the collection was wherever they could be put down. Most of the scattered papers were old school notes but the rest were a mixture of stories, songs, poems, screenplays, letters and notes he had passed between friends during classes. He always had a thing for creative writing, always letting his mind wander. The bed was never made, he hated doing it cause he claimed he couldn't do it right. Clothes were always strewn across the floor and cloaks draped over chairs. Inkwells were never discarded when emptied - whether it be because he spilt it, broke the well, or just ran out of ink, doesn't matter. The small glass bottles were everywhere.

When Draco Malfoy was 11, he told his house elf, Bopsy, not to tend to his room anymore.

Lucius's eyes roamed over the room. The bed was made, not a single crease in the deep violet comforter. The desks and tables were striped of all useless inkwells and random papers. The bookcase was emptied of all his books and journals and notebooks. The floor was visible, no clothes covering up the dark brown hardwood. The waredrobe had been emptied of all his top-of-the-line clothing. Everything was empty.

Including Lucius's tear filled grey eyes.

Lucius was proud of his son, no matter how he treated him. He was harsh, forceful, pushy and strict but he still cared. He wanted him to be what he could never achieve - free. He never wanted the dark mark to taint his porcelain skin. He never wanted the name 'Malfoy' to become a burden weighing on his shoulders, making his future harder. He never wanted him to be a coward.

He had failed Draco.

Lucius sucked in a deep breath and walked over to the large window. The gardens were lit up a little bit due to the golden orbs floating above here and there. The golden light bounced off the large pond and painted all of the white flower a dim yellow. It was beautiful, and nor Lucius understood why Draco kept the drapes open all the time.

He always thought he was a decent father.

He always thought Draco was healthy.

No longer wanting to stand by the window, Lucius went and gracelessy plopped into the chair in front of Draco's now dusty desk. At first, Lucius hadn't noticed the small piece of parchment sitting in the middle of the ebony desk, collecting dust itself. Leaning forward, Lucius read the small elegant writing that was unmistakebly his sons. Six words was all that was written, but they made Lucius's breath hitch and heart clench. His vision blurred with tears and his stomach churned uncomfortably. Six words - the last words his son had to say;

"_I'm sorry I couldn't be perfect._

_-D.M_."

The empty room suddenly felt a whole lot colder and smaller to Lucius than before. His body numbed over and tears slid down his cheeks, dripping off his pointing nose and long blonde eye lashes. All he wanted to do was apologize to Draco but as that thought crossed his mind, the tears only came more fiercly. He crossed his arms over his stomach and bent over, placing his head between his knees.

As Lucius sat in his sons room, he can't help but wonder if the last thing Draco saw was the view from his bedroom window.


End file.
